Freight

Speed is a drug, they say, but the train is more than speed.

It siphons in the fuel, gallons and gallons, just to make it budge an inch

Engine shudders and wheels turn and heat builds

And the great machine slowly gains its hard-earned momentum

Passersby stare at the pace, sure it must crash

Sure the frantic movement and the roar of its parts can only end in chaos

But they don’t see the pattern it follows so easily

The tracks laid out in their methodical way

The world races by in a whirlwind of colors it can barely take in

Every mechanism screaming out in the sheer joy of purpose

But there is one question we still cannot answer

What will it do once it runs out of track?